


Forgiveness and Love: Book Two of the Taken by the Wind Series (Dragon Age: Origins/Awakening)

by theladygriff



Series: Rhiannon Cousland (DAO/Awakening Story) [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M, Post-Dragon Age: Origins, Post-Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladygriff/pseuds/theladygriff
Summary: This is the continuation of my slow burn Loghain fic. Read Midnight Sun before reading this one. This continues the story of Rhiannon Cousland and Loghain Mac Tir as they face the unknown following the end of the Blight. It begins soon after the final battle.The Archdemon has been slain and the Blight ended. Now begins the task of rebuilding the Ferelden Order. Rhiannon is faced with a new life and a new purpose, both of which prove to be far more difficult than she could have imagined. Endless titles, endless duties. The life of a hero is nothing like in those fairy tales she read when she was a little girl. With her friends returned to their old lives and others to their new ones, there are very few she can rely on in this new life of her own. But there is one person who remains by her side, guiding her and supporting her through all she does. As stubborn and stern as ever, but slowly becoming the pillar that holds her up, that keeps her strong and whole to face what is to come. Maker is he infuriating, and how utterly lost she would be without him...
Relationships: Female Cousland/Loghain Mac Tir, Loghain Mac Tir/Female Warden
Series: Rhiannon Cousland (DAO/Awakening Story) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024108
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12





	1. Strictly No Breastplates and Swords

Two weeks after the final battle

Music fills the throne room, echoing through my weary head and guiding me towards the drinks table for the third time in less than an hour. My body has not yet recovered fully from my showdown with the Archdemon, but I feel as though I desperately need the aid of a few drinks to see me through the night, despite Wynne’s voice of reason lingering in the back of my head.  
A ball to honour the beloved Hero of Ferelden. That was Anora’s official excuse for the party, anyway. It seems more an opportunity to parade me around in front of all the Crown’s allies but given how close we came to losing the battle, I am merely relieved to be alive to endure such a tedious night.  
I wish Loghain was here.  
It is a sudden thought that takes me by surprise. Since the battle I have seen little of him. His injuries were immense, and he has only begun moving from his chamber in the past few days. Add to that my never-ending duties at the palace and elsewhere, we simply never see one another. It was a week before I was even able to venture to his bedside due to my own injuries, and I had spent as much time there as to outstay my welcome, Loghain insistent that I take my new duties more seriously and leave him to his recovery.  
I find myself tucked away in a corner, leaning heavily against a stone column, eyes scanning the room for a possible way out that might go unnoticed.  
Fergus is there, my wonderful, charming older brother. Maker is it wonderful to see his face again. It was only a week ago when word came that he was alive and on his way to Denerim. He had been ambushed in the Wilds near Ostagar all those months ago and nursed back to health by Chasind folk. I had cried to the point of madness when I read his letter, and our reunion was merely days ago. Words cannot describe the feeling. I am not the last Cousland. I am not alone.  
Fergus’ eyes meet mine from across the room and his handsome face pulls upwards into a bright, familiar smile that seems to light up the entire room. There is so much of our parents in his face, in his eyes, that it makes my heart swell and ache in the same moment. He is a reminder of what was, what came before. An echo of those years spent at Highever and of the faces, voices and memories that lived and breathed within the walls of Castle Cousland.  
Tears well in my eyes and I find myself breaking eye contact with him in order to hold them back. I raise my glass to my lips and drink away the knots in my stomach. Alcohol has never sat well with me, but tonight I do not care. Maker knows I have earned a few drinks.  
In the corner of the room I can see my companions, huddled together against the onslaught of compliments and praise from the endless flow of nobles. Leliana wears an elegant smile to match her emerald gown, Zevran a sultry smirk to match his gold and mahogany tunic. The others, however, look like fish out of water. None more so than Sten who simply stands aloof, heavy frown scanning the crowd as though if a noble were to approach, he might just snap their head off.  
I cannot help but chuckle to myself. None of us are suited for this sort of thing. Despite Leliana and Zevran’s confident airs, they would rather be anywhere else than trapped here at a silly, fancy ball. A tavern would be better suited for our lot.  
“Balls are not your thing, I take it?”  
I startle enough at the sudden voice beside me that my drink nearly spills from my glass.  
Teagan chuckles, coming to lean against the column beside me. “Apologies, my Lady.”  
I breathe a small laugh laced with a sigh of relief at my luck at having avoided getting any wine on my new gown. “Good evening, Teagan. I was lost in thought. But no, balls have never been my favourite. I used to sneak out of Mother’s parties any chance I could and hide in the stables or on the battlements back home. Crowds make me a little uneasy.”  
Teagan smiles and nods. “I can see why you would feel that way. Though you might want to prepare yourself. I think there are to be a few of these in the coming weeks. And the Hero of Ferelden is at the top of everyone’s guest list.”  
I fight back a moan and lean deeper onto the column, wishing that the stone would absorb me, and claim me as its own. “Lovely. I shall look the perfect image of ridiculous at all of them.”  
“I think you look wonderful, actually,” he says with a sparkle in his eye that hints to me that he still has an interest in me, likely remnants of my father’s meddling long ago. “That dress is magnificent. Truly, you look a vision.”  
I chew on the inside of my cheek, flattered, flustered and completely unsure what to make of his attention. I have always thought him handsome and charming, but a good leap away from my type. Older than my previous partners, too.  
“Anora had it made for me,” I reply after holding his gaze a little longer than I had intended. “Blue satin, I am told. I do not think I have ever owned such a fancy gown in my life. Mother would have swooned had she seen such a dress.”  
“Her Highness has fine taste. Though I do think armour suits you far better.”  
I smile, a small flutter in my chest startling me under the intensity of his gaze. I am certain that I can read his thoughts through those eyes, the way they speak to me without a single word. Maker, I need to get away from here.  
As though reading my mind, Fergus appears by my side, taking my arm with a smile and offering a courteous smile and nod to Teagan.  
“Bann Teagan, it is good to see you.”  
Teagan offers Fergus a small bow, a sign of Fergus’ new title as the Teyrn of Highever, inherited from our father. “And you, Teyrn Cousland.”  
Fergus chuckles. “Fergus is fine, my Lord. Father never cared for titles, and neither do I.”  
I meet Fergus’ gaze with a warm smile, my heart swelling at the mention of our father and the wonderful, familiar feeling of having my brother near. I have missed it beyond words. I have missed him beyond words.  
“Forgive me, Teagan, but my dear sister is required at the front. The Queen has need for her.” Fergus casts me a knowing glance that suggests that he is well aware of his saving me from something.  
Teagan chuckles and nods. “Of course. Good evening to you both.” His eyes hold mine for a moment before Fergus steers me away.  
“Thank the Maker,” I sigh under my breath.  
Fergus chuckles and tightens his hold on my arm. “Lady Rhiannon Guerrin. Now that would be something.”  
A pinch on the forearm has Fergus half crying out, half laughing.  
“Now, now, a lady does not pinch.”  
“I am not a lady; I am a warden. And wardens kill things.”  
Fergus’ smile widens as we near the front of the room where Anora and Alistair stand together. My heart sinks when Alistair’s eyes find mine and he hesitates a moment, before quickly glancing away.  
“Don’t tell me, another jilted lover? Maker, Rhi, you have been a busy woman.”  
The look I give Fergus has him holding his tongue, but I can see the amusement and many questions in his eyes as we reach the front of the room.  
“Good, you are here.” Anora offers Fergus a polite nod before reaching to take me from him. “You look delightful, Rhi. Blue is your colour. I will let the seamstress know.”  
I stifle a sigh. “I appreciate the kindness, Your Majesty, but I am capable of finding my own gowns myself.”  
“I have banned silverite from all parties. Strictly no breastplates and swords.” Alistair’s voice startles me and when I meet his fleeting gaze, there is a hint of kindness and humour in his eyes before those eyes turn away once again.  
“It is no trouble,” Anora insists. “But that is not why I summoned you here.” She steps forwards towards the crowd then. “Lords and Ladies, might I have your attention for a moment, please.” The entire room falls silent at her regal and domineering tone. “Thank you. Tonight, we are gathered to celebrate an incredible victory, and to honour the brave souls who fought and defeated the Archdemon. I present our saviour, Rhiannon Cousland, the Hero of Ferelden.”  
The room erupts into cheers then and I find myself in desperate need of another glass of wine. Facing so many seemed easier when the kingdom and Thedas were at stake. Now it is simply terrifying.  
“Let history know that this is the woman who saved us all from the Blight and who slew the Archdemon atop Fort Drakon.” Anora’s voice rings through the enormous room effortlessly, reaching the ears of every man and woman. “And as a reward for their service, We hereby grant the lands of the arling of Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens of Ferelden. There they shall have the means to rebuild their order and regain their strength and dignity within our glorious kingdom.”  
Anora turns to me then, smiling brightly. “Thank you, dear friend. For all that you have done. Ferelden could not have asked for a greater hero.”  
I return her smile and squeeze her hand in mine. “You do me a great honour, my Queen. Thank you.”  
There is a flash of sadness in her eyes for the briefest of moments. “It is a shame my father could not be here. But I am afraid such a thing would be unacceptable to our other guests.”  
I nod. “He understands. Besides, he is not yet fit for parties, anyway. As stubborn as he may be, he is not invincible.”  
Anora’s smile is gentle, the smile of a daughter who worries about her father and who loves him dearly. “I am pleased that he has you, Rhi. He has a purpose now, one that he can be proud of. No more politics, no more pressure from the ghosts of his past. This is what he needed. A new beginning.”  
With Alistair so near, oblivious to our conversation, I feel my heart weighed down with guilt, but I try to push it aside and continue to smile as best I can.  
“He has proven himself loyal and invaluable.”  
“Of course, he has,” she says, a knowing look in her eyes. And then her smile falters a little. “There is one more thing I wish to discuss with you before the night is done. Come, walk with me.” She offers me her arm and I take it, concern narrowing my brow.  
“Is something the matter?”  
She shakes her head as we begin towards the door that leads to the palace gardens, the very gardens we once spent hours upon hours in playing games and pretending to be fearsome warriors.  
“No. Not at all.”


	2. A Companionship

Denerim is quiet at this time of night, hardly a soul on the streets. After the final battle against the horde, many of the houses and shops were nothing but ruin and progress in restoring them is to be a slow process, despite Alistair and Anora’s desperation to see the city back to its previous state. Ever thinking of their people and pushing for the better. They make a powerful and generous couple, and equally as such as monarchs.  
Guards pass by as they patrol the streets, but in the Palace District is mostly silent, most of the inhabitants either residing in their country castles or still celebrating shamelessly in the palace.  
Holding the skirt of my gown so as not to risk tripping over it, my eyes move from my feet to the sky above. The stars are barely visible tonight, less so here in the city than they had been not so long ago when Anora and I walked the palace gardens.  
A lump forms in my throat, Anora’s words still echoing through my mildly intoxicated mind. Maker’s tears, what is she thinking? What is Alistair thinking? Becoming the Arlessa of Amaranthine is one thing, but this? Surely, they cannot be serious.  
I think of Loghain then, who is no doubt wallowing in the joy of not having had to attend that ‘idiotic parade of nonsense’, or so he had called it.  
I let out a sigh as the Cousland estate comes into view, my heart sinking from all manner of thoughts. Anora’s proposition, the continued feeling of dread at having taken up residence in what was once a home I shared with loved ones who are long gone. Fergus is the teyrn, so the estate belongs to him now. It is still such an odd thought. One that will take time to adjust to, and a wound that may never heal completely.  
As I pass through the gate a guard pauses to nod his greeting and I return the gesture with a small, forced smile. Taking the steps two at a time, my skirt still in my hands, I silently pray that Loghain is asleep so that I might avoid telling him about tonight.  
The door closes loudly behind me and I begin to make for the stairs, but a voice from the salon halts me in my tracks.  
“You are back early.”  
I let out a long sigh at the base of the stairs before meandering reluctantly to the salon door. Loghain is at the sidebar pouring himself a drink. He glances over his shoulder at me, blue eyes trailing the length of my gown before turning away again.  
“Did no one walk you?” His question is one of courteous concern, his tone as indifferent about an answer as it is about most things.  
I sigh a small laugh and enter the salon, slumping down heavily into one of the chairs, kicking off my shoes and lifting my feet up onto the opposite armchair, thankful to be off my feet at long last.  
“I am hardly defenseless,” I reply, eyes on his back as he remains at the sidebar. “I will have whatever you are having, thanks.”  
Loghain gives a small grunt and reaches for another glass. “Did they not serve drinks at the party? How disgraceful.”  
“They did and believe me I made the most of them. I am not sure I could have lasted so long in that room if there was no alcohol involved.” My words trail off, barely reaching Loghain’s ears. These endless thoughts keep spinning in my mind and as my eyes remain on his back and then follow him as he comes to hand me my drink, I cannot help but feel the stirrings of guilt building inside of me.  
Blue eyes meet mine, tucked beneath a light frown as they always are. I take my drink and then Loghain taps my feet, and I drop them from the other chair with a small groan so that he can take a seat.  
As we drink in silence for a moment, my eyes remain on him, examining him in detail. His expression, his gaze, his posture, his healing body. It is strange to think we were enemies not so long ago, trying our best to kill the other. But since the final battle, something feels as though it has shifted. Not entirely a friendship of sorts, but a bond of some kind. A comradery. A companionship. There are subtle differences now, such as the knowing glances we exchange regularly when words are not required to communicate our thoughts. It reminds me of how we had fought together so flawlessly in that battle against the darkspawn and the Archdemon. Reading each other wordlessly, each of us simply deciphering a message through a glance or a gesture. Somehow that has translated into daily life. Perhaps it is a result of having spent entire days by his bedside, talking now and then and always about nothing important. Reading books to pass the time and sometimes reading aloud when the other became too tired to read themselves. It had seemed so natural at the time, but now I wonder what changed. When had this become our new normal?  
I wonder if this is why I feel the guilt that I do. What I have to tell him may just cause him pain and somehow that thought upsets me.  
“You look particularly grim,” Loghain notes dryly, pulling me from my thoughts. “And you are staring again.”  
I blink several times and find myself reddening a little when I realize that I have been staring at him this entire time. “Sorry, it’s just-” My sentence breaks off and I heave a sigh.  
Loghain raises an eyebrow, hands curled around his half-empty glass. “Just?”  
I meet his eyes a moment, wanting to speak the words with courage, but his gaze is too intense and my mind too fogged and flustered by the alcohol to maintain eye contact, so I glance away, instead focusing on the small table beside us.  
“They are giving me Gwaren.”  
Loghain pauses a moment with the glass at his lips, before taking a drink. “Indeed.”  
I frown over at him, my guilt suddenly turning to confusion. “Indeed? Am I to believe you knew about this?”  
“Possibly.”  
“Loghain, is this your doing? Tell me you did not put this idea in Anora’s head.”  
He gives a shrug. “And what if I said that I suggested it? Would you cease this whining?”  
“You cannot be serious!” I rise in my chair and sit forwards as far I can, leaning close to him with a bewildered fire in my eyes. “What are you thinking? Two Couslands within the teyrnirs? Is that wise?”  
“That is entirely subjective.” He eyes me coolly, completely unfazed by my outburst. “The King and Queen are establishing themselves within the hierarchy. Is it not beneficial to place those they trust within those positions?”  
“But what of the other nobility? Will they not make a fuss over this?”  
“Some, perhaps. But the Couslands are respected more than the royal family itself. Your family are the heirs to the monarchy should the Theirin line die out. I see very few objecting to this, and those who do show themselves as disloyal and will have their hands tied. Eamon will certainly not stand for it. The man is as conservative as they come.”  
“And what about you? Does it not upset you to see your title given to someone else?”  
“Should it? In truth it was barely mine to begin with. I did not want it and it was Celia who truly ruled over Gwaren.” His eyes lower to his glass, the past playing through his mind. “I admit it feels strange to see it passed on, but I have no desire to keep it. I rather prefer this nameless life. Besides, I could not have seen it to a better alternative.” His eyes meet mine again. “You will make a fine teyrna, I am certain of it.”  
I sigh and retreat deep into my chair. “Rhiannon Cousland, Champion of Redcliffe, Commander of the Grey, Arlessa of Amaranthine and Teyrna of Gwaren. Maker’s breath, what a mouthful that is.”  
Loghain smirks. “You certainly have done well for yourself.”  
“Have I? I feel as though I am neck deep in water and barely keeping myself from drowning.”  
There is sympathy in his eyes, or perhaps understanding.  
“You will be fine. More than fine, I am sure. And you are not alone. Since that Archdemon failed to kill me, I suppose you ought to accustom yourself to having me around.”  
I laugh. “Indeed. We have an order to rebuild. And an arling and teyrnir as well. We have quite the task ahead of us.”  
Loghain settles into his armchair opposite me, a smirk on his face. “Idleness has never suited me.”  
“Me neither, but a few weeks of rest never hurt anyone.”  
He snorts. “Wait until you reach my age, you will change your mind entirely. Old bones do not appreciate comfort as young ones do.”  
“You aren’t that old, Loghain. Besides, it isn’t like we will be sitting on our hands. I have an estate to rebuild now, and we have to find some recruits.”  
Loghain nods. “Very well. To work then?”  
I scoff. “I think those things can wait until the morning. Or perhaps the afternoon. I would love a sleep in, for once.”  
Silence falls between us then and I find myself watching the flames flickering in the nearby hearth, admiring their beauty, and marveling in the serenity of the moment. It feels like so long ago that I was able to relax like this, to simply just be. I am not living in a stranger’s home anymore or fleeing for my life and camping in a new place each night. This feels so normal, so domesticated. But it will not last, I remind myself. Maker have we got much to do.  
“You wear your armour better.”  
I glance up at Loghain as he takes another drink from his cup. “Pardon?”  
The look on his face tells me that he regrets having spoken at all, but he obliges. “You wear your armour better. Dresses do not suit you so well. It is not your character.”  
A smile spreads across my face and I laugh softly. “Apparently. You know, you are not the first person to tell me that tonight.”  
He raises an eyebrow.  
“Teagan Guerrin,” I offer in reply to his silent question. “He sought me out at the party. He was full of compliments. And innuendo.”  
Loghain sneers. “I would say that I am surprised, but I am not. Maker knows that man has a reputation.”  
I snort on my drink as I take another sip. “I did not think you the gossiping type, Loghain Mac Tir. How fascinating.”  
“Hardly. But it was my duty to know everything about everyone. And the man was not subtle in the slightest.”  
I let out a long sigh, a smile still on my face. “Father had thought to marry me off to him.”  
Loghain eyes me a moment. “Perhaps you ought to. Marry him, I mean.”  
This time I nearly choke on air alone. “Excuse me?”  
He heaves a sigh and shifts in his seat. “As the new Teyrna of Gwaren, it makes sense to take a husband. Someone who could rule the teyrnir in your stead. As a Grey Warden I assume a lot of your time will be spent in Amaranthine once the Order establishes itself there. A husband could govern Gwaren, as Celia did for me.”  
While there is a great deal of logic in his suggestion, I cannot help but remain completely bewildered by it.  
“Grey Wardens do not marry.”  
“Perhaps not usually, but your circumstances are unique to say the least.” Loghain is entirely serious, his expression and tone level. “Wardens do not own land either, but here you are as both an arlessa and teyrna. It only makes sense.”  
I consider his words a moment, but the more I think on them, the less I like the idea at all.  
“Teagan is to assume the role of Arl of Redcliffe now that Eamon has decided to remain in Denerim,” I say, hoping to render this suggestion obsolete. “He will have his own land to govern. Besides, the Guerrin bloodline is nearly as endangered as the Theirin bloodline. He would require heirs. Those I cannot give.” I shake my head, now having fully convinced myself against the thought. “Besides, I have you to aid me, Warden Loghain, Constable of the Grey.”  
Loghain sighs and gives a small nod, his eyes moving to the hearth. He had not seemed entirely thrilled by the promotion when I offered it to him several days ago, but he had not objected to it either. “I will aid you as best I can, but you may need to consider a marriage in the future. I would not be so brash to cast the idea aside.”  
“So, you think I ought to hunt around and keep my options open?” The question is fueled by a laugh.  
“Truthfully, yes.” His head leans backwards against the back of the chair, his eyelids growing heavy. He has not mentioned any pain, nor show any signs of it, but I can see the thick layer of bandages that cover his torso underneath his thin undershirt. His eyes find mine and he notes the direction of my gaze. He shifts a little under the scrutiny. “Your mage says that I will need more time to recover fully, but I think myself well enough to leave this damned house.”  
I frown at him. “Leave?”  
Loghain nods. “I was thinking I ought to stay at your new estate across the district. It sustained damage in the battle and requires work. I can move there for the time being and see to the repairs before you move there yourself. It was my home for many years and so I should think myself the ideal person for the task.”  
I am about to object to his abandoning me when the front door to the estate bursts open and laughter and voices fill the foyer. Fergus appears in the room then, wary, and intoxicated eyes noting Loghain before settling on me.  
“Maker’s tears, Rhi, you missed one hell of a party,” he slurs. Behind him I can Leliana, Zevran and Oghren in the foyer, chatting and laughing with one another.  
“Andraste’s mercy, look at your three.” Wynne’s voice from the top of the stairs causes my companions to pause a moment. “To bed, all of you.”  
Loghain and I exchange small smirks as Fergus nears me. He leans close and places a gentle kiss on the top of my hair and offers a brilliant, albeit drunk grin.  
“Good night, sweet sister.” He says as he retreats into the foyer and follows the others upstairs. “Be calm, good woman.” I can hear him say to Wynne when is disappeared up the staircase.  
I laugh to myself when all goes quiet again and place my glass down on the table, rising to my feet. I meet Loghain’s eyes. “Very well. If you wish to move to the estate, then you may. But make sure you prepare a room for me quickly. As much as I adore my brother, I am rather looking forward to having my own space.”  
Loghain nods, his eyes watching me as I make for the door. “As you say, Commander.”  
I hesitate at the door and turn to him with a sigh. “Really, Loghain? After all we have been through, you still will not use my name?”  
He snorts softly. “You are my superior. What else am I supposed to call you?”  
His words pain me a little, which confuses me more than anything. It should not matter that he does not use my name. He is right. I am his superior and we are hardly friends. And yet, I wish he would.  
I depart the salon without another word and make my way upstairs to my chamber, closing the door softly behind me. I change into a nightgown and wrap myself gleefully within the thick blankets, thankful for the comfort and safety of a familiar bed and room. It is the same chamber I occupied during those yearly Landsmeet weeks growing up. There is something so bittersweet in the familiarity of the space. So many memories, so much heartbreak.  
Sleep comes easily now that the Archdemon no longer fills my dreams. Alistair had been right back then. The voices were louder during the Blight. Now there is mostly silence, save for the small hum that remains in the back of my mind that signifies Loghain’s presence. The presence of my fellow warden. But it does not plague me as the horde’s voice had. Rather, I find it a great comfort. Should I wake from one of my endless nightmares, I can focus on that hum and it reminds me that I am not alone.


	3. A Grey Warden, Not A Nursemaid

It is a month after the final battle before Denerim begins to resemble itself again and slowly the city comes back to life, as though resurrected from the ashes and rubble, the people of the city wearing new smiles, eyes and hearts full of hope of a new beginning.  
The market bustles with new merchants taking up shop and old ones returning to rebuild what they lost, a means to move on from the chaos. No one talks much of what happened, though it is not forgotten. But Fereldans know hardship better than most and so the Blight is endured as all the other wars have been, remembered, but left in the past for the sake of moving forward.  
My face is a familiar one to most and I find myself endlessly stopped in the street, the common folk eagerly clambering with questions and praises. The nobility send gifts that I have no use for, such as tapestries and paintings, sometimes furniture and that one arl who sent me a horse he purchased from a breeding stock in Orlais. Loghain had thought the gifts entertaining until the horse arrived at the estate. I have never seen a grown man react so childishly as he had when he objected madly to the idea of keeping it and swore it would not be allowed anywhere near the Teyrna of Gwaren’s stables.   
“I would not trust that thing to carry a pack, let alone a person. Orlesian horses are bred for their looks, not their loyalty. First sight to danger and this beast will be galloping off into the hills, never to be seen again and likely devoured by wolves or something. What a sorry waste of gold.”  
Despite Loghain’s objections, it seemed rude to send the horse back. It was a gift, after all. Arrangements were made and now it has become the newest member of the royal stables, kept entirely for show, rather than practicality  
Standing by the gate of my new estate, I find myself staring up at the grand stone archway, caught between awe and excitement, and a feeling of dread and unworthiness. It has been two weeks since Anora appointed me Teyrna of Gwaren and still it does not feel real. Even having visited the estate many times since Loghain took up residence here and now residing here myself, it still does not feel like it is mine. And in truth it is not. Not yet. Loghain knows this house like the back of his hand. There is not a single crack or stone that he is not familiar with, nor is there a room that he does not have some fact or story to regale me with. But his mood seems to have altered somewhat since he returned here. One moment he is almost smiling, his posture relaxed and peaceful, then the next his brow has darkened and has only grunts for words. I can understand his conflict; this was his home for decades, and now it belongs to someone else. A reminder of a time he had thought to put behind him. He may say that this nameless life suits him better, but the truth is he was the Teyrn of Gwaren. It was a part of him. In a lot of ways, it still is.  
Pushing through the gate I try to set aside my thoughts and focus on the road ahead. There is still so much to do. While Loghain has busied himself with the estate and repairs, I have been spending too much time at the palace, at an infinite number of parties and meetings, and trapped in my office dealing with a never-ending trail of paperwork. I have made inquiries about recruits to begin bolstering our warden ranks, but progress has been slow. Anora offered any number of those locked in the city dungeons, but I have no intention of building our order on the shoulders of criminals. No, our new wardens will be willing recruits and the best fighters and minds we can find. Unfortunately, many of those sorts of people were killed or injured during the Blight, serving on the front lines. Those left behind are the talented with a criminal history. It makes for a frustrating search.  
Seemingly from nowhere, Hero appears, slobbering and panting, and nearly bowls me over with his greeting leap.  
“Maker’s breath, boy!” I wail as I almost tumble backwards.  
Hero barks with delight and heeds my stern tone, dropping to all fours and satisfying himself with the adoring pets I happily offer. It has only been two days since I made the move from the Cousland estate to join Loghain here, but the change has been dramatic. An unfamiliar house, no familiar faces save for Hero and Loghain, and the reality that even more change is upon us. It seems strange to think that I miss those days during the Blight when I was surrounded by friends and life seemed simpler somehow. Truly I must be mad for such thoughts given the dangers and enemies we faced, but it is the truth. I miss it dearly. And I miss my friends. Most of them are gone now, having departed Denerim one by one to return to their lives or to create new ones. Zevran remains in the city and he stops by now and then, but it is not the same. Wynne is stationed at the palace for the time being, though I know she intends to move on soon. Leliana’s departure several days ago has left a gaping hole in my chest. She promised to write me once she is able, but it is not the same. I already miss her voice and warmth desperately.   
Hero tilts his head at me as I find myself lost in thought. I try to offer a reassuring smile, but it falls short of my eyes and Hero offers a lick on the hand for comfort. I pet him appreciatively and we begin towards the house.  
The large wooden doors of the estate are wide open when we reach them, sounds of bustle and clutter coming from within. Loghain made sure to hire servants on his first day here, a decision I had not entirely agreed with given my dislike of having others serve me, but he had insisted and I had relented, given my lesser knowledge on how to run an estate such as this. Father had taught me much on such things, but Loghain knows far more than I, so I have allowed him to do as he sees fit. It is a task he has thrown himself into tirelessly, working day and night. He may be mostly healed now, but I do wonder if he is working himself too hard. I have tried several times to passively hint at his needing to relax a little, but each time I have been met by a sneer or a scolding or a lecture on posturing given my new station.  
“You are one of the most important people in Ferelden, Commander,” he had reminded me for the thousandth time the day before. “Like it or not, you need to look the part. An orderly estate is a staple and a must. Now quit whining and leave me to my duties. You have a meeting in the palace before supper, do you not? Off with you then.”  
I smirk at the memory. Sometimes I wonder if I share my home with my Constable of the Grey or my nursemaid.  
“Loghain?” My shout rings through the halls of the estate, startling several nearby servants, causing me to smile ruefully in their directions as they frown at me. Even Hero jumped a little at my voice for which I offer another pet as an apology.  
In my mind’s eye I can almost imagine Loghain’s sigh before he appears at the top of the stairs, blue eyes narrowed down at me.   
“Must you bellow like a beast every time you step through that door?”  
I beam up at him brightly as he descends the stairs to meet Hero and I in the foyer. “Perhaps we ought to install a bell at the door that sounds whenever I walk through it. It might save my lungs the exertion and the servants’ nerves.”  
Loghain sneers at my suggestion and instead turns most of his attention to the Mabari that he has befriended entirely over the past weeks. He kneels before Hero and pets him affectionately on the head.  
“I trust your meeting with the Queen went well?”   
I nod, a mixture of warmed by the sight of their close bond and somewhat jealous that this man has managed to almost steal my Mabari from me. “Anora sends her well wishes.”  
Loghain merely nods at that. “And what of our plans? What did she have to say on those?”  
“We have her blessing. The Crown shall supply the coin to erect a Grey Warden outpost in Gwaren. We need only chose the location and send her word of it.”  
Loghain rises to his feet and meets my gaze. “Good. I knew she would see the benefits of a southern outpost. But what remains is the issue of recruits. The outpost will be useless to us if we do not have the wardens to man it.”  
I stifle a sigh and nod. We have had this same discussion endlessly over the past weeks and it has always ended in silence or a heated debate.  
We move our discussion to the main office on the ground floor that once was Loghain’s office, so he told me, and I take my seat in what was once his chair, while he busies himself at the desk, sorting through a pile of correspondence.  
“The Orlesian Grey Wardens have arrived in Amaranthine,” he tells me as I take the first letter from the pile he has set aside for me. “They are sending several to meet with us to discuss plans and recruitment. As I predicted they would. If there is one thing Orlesian’s are good at, it is sticking their noses where they are not wanted.”  
I glance up from the letter in my hands to see his face wrinkled in disgust. This has been another heated topic between us, whether to accept the aid from across the border or not. I think it beneficial, Loghain considers it stupidity.  
“We need all the help we can get. Perhaps they will have some ideas on what comes next. Recruitment especially. Neither you nor I know enough about the Joining to perform it ourselves. We need them.”  
Loghain does not seem pleased by the logic, but he does not attempt to argue the matter any further. “You are right, but we still should remain cautious. The Grey Wardens may belong to a singular order and purpose, but this is Ferelden. It is all politics regardless.”  
“Delightful,” I scoff, sitting back in my chair. “Maker I miss being out there.” I gesture pointlessly at nothing. “Sticking things with swords is far less complicated. It is as simple as friend or foe. One you kill, the other simply passes you by. I hate politicians.”  
Loghain smirks. “Then you have chosen your path poorly, it would seem. I regret to inform you that politics will fill your every day from now on. Such is the life of a person of any importance. And many of none. Every man and his dog tend to circle the greater powers, and you are one of such powers.”  
I sigh. “Thanks for the reminder. And the warning. Though you might have enlightened me on this before I accepted the fancy titles and huge estates.”  
“You whine an awful lot for a Cousland. I thought your family loyalist and talented leaders?”  
I laugh under my breath, amused but weary from all this talks of politics and duty. “I suppose those traits skipped my generation.”   
“Fergus seems adequate. As are you.”  
“Fergus will make a great teyrn, I have no doubt about that.” My smile falters and my eyes move to the ceiling above me. “He is more like father than he would care to admit. Of course, more insufferable, and far more promiscuous, but he is Bryce Cousland’s son. I always thought myself more a free spirit. A lone wolf, some might say. Hardly the leadership type and certainly not an arlessa or teyrna, though I knew I might one day become one against my will, considering my mother’s ambition to marry me off.”  
Loghain takes a seat opposite me, letters in hand. His free hand reaches to pet Hero who has fallen into a deep sleep on the floor beside the hearth. “If there is one thing I know well, it is that life is unpredictable. You can either make the most of what you are given, or wallow in self pity and fail. You may not think yourself capable, but you are not a coward. You will succeed.”  
I meet his gaze with a smirk on my face. “And should I ever misstep, you will be right there behind me to pull my head in and give me a good scolding.”  
Loghain grunts, his eyes having lowered to the letters. “I thought I was to be a Grey Warden, not a nursemaid.”  
I laugh a little at that, but my face soon falls as thoughts of the future play on my mind. Loghain is right. I can sit here and pretend that my duty is done and wish that someone will swoop in and take over for me, but that is not going to happen. I cannot ask him to take on my responsibilities for me as I have been. My moment to clear my head has passed, I need to focus. Delaying the inevitable will not see these issues resolved. I owe it to those who sacrificed themselves to get us to here. I need to do better. I need to be stronger.  
I clear my throat against the fear and guilt that wells inside of me and reach for the next letter on the pile, not noticing Loghain’s blue eyes as they watch me, a moment of affirmation flickering in their depths.


	4. They Are Orlesian

“Maker, Rhi, this is quite the house. Not quite Castle Cousland, but far grander than Cousland Estate.”  
Fergus follows behind me as I take him on a brief tour of the Gwaren Estate, his eyes peering into every room and at every tapestry.  
“And this was Loghain’s?”  
I nod. “It was.”  
Fergus chuckles softly. “How the world has changed. I still cannot seem to make sense of it all. My baby sister, Hero of Ferelden, a Grey Warden who slew the Archdemon. You were always meant for something greater, but I admit even I did not see this coming.”  
I laugh and roll my eyes, turning back towards the stairs, Fergus following reluctantly.  
“I still cannot believe the Queen let you keep Highever,” I tease coolly. “Fergus Cousland, lord of trysts and sarcasm. Not to mention pig-headed and a burden to his sister.”  
Fergus snorts. “Well, I suppose now that you are all titled up, you can use the excuse for your remaining unmarried as your duty preventing it, rather than your sharp tongue warding off potential suitors.”  
“Just because I am a woman, does not mean I ought to have married at all.”  
“Now, now,” Fergus clucks when we reach the base of the stairs. “You know as well as I do that any man who wishes to lay claim to you will have to go through me first. I truly think there not a man worthy of you on this earth regardless. Still, I say best of luck to those who try. You are quite the heartbreaker if I am to understand correctly.”  
I groan and lower myself onto a settee in the salon. “It is none of your business.”  
Fergus seats himself opposite me, spreading himself out leisurely, a smirk on his lips. “Is that so? Bedding the king is quite a big deal, dear sister.”  
“Sweet Maker, Fergus, are we really to talk about this? What happened between Alistair and I is in the past, where it belongs. Please, leave it be.”  
There is a flicker of sympathy in his eyes and his smile falters.  
“Forgive me. I thought it an affair. But it was more, wasn’t it?”  
A lump forms in my throat and I swallow against it, averting my eyes. “Possibly. It did not last long enough for me to find out.” I sigh heavily. “Eamon wanted me to marry him, cast Anora aside and take the throne beside him.”  
Fergus’ eyes widen and he sits forwards in his seat. “Are you serious? You mean, you could have been the queen right now?”  
I nod. “Yes, but it does not matter now. I made some decisions that meant that was no longer possible. I did not want the throne, anyway. Eamon suggested it and Alistair agreed to it, but I did not want it at all. Could you imagine? Me as queen? It makes me shudder just to think about it.”  
“You are probably right,” Fergus says, relaxing once again into his chair. “It seems a dangerous job, after all. I am simply pleased that you are well and have made a place for yourself. As much as I know you love Highever, it was never meant to be your life.”  
We both fall silent then, our minds travelling northward to our childhood home, where it stands in ruin.  
Fergus sighs, his pained eyes meeting mine. “Once the royal wedding is over, I am to return to Highever. I know that you are likely busy with warden business, but I wanted to ask you to come with me when I go. You needn’t stay long, but I think I would not like to return on my own.” There is a deep sorrow in his voice that I know well. It is the same tone that consumes my voice whenever I speak of my home. And the pain in his eyes, it is merely a reflection of mine.  
I nod, tears threatening in my eyes. “I will go with you, Fergus. We shall do it together.”  
Relief is evident on his face, laced with the fear of what we might face when that day comes. My heart shudders in my chest, twisting at the memories that play across my mind from the final night that I was in my home. So much blood, so much screaming. The fire, the destruction. Oriana, Oren, mother, father. Maker will I be forever grateful that Fergus never saw any of it.

With the royal wedding approaching, Denerim is alive with bustle and celebration. Anora and Alistair are busy preparing for the event and so planning for the kingdom grinds to a brief halt while this important milestone looms over us. While the people celebrate, it is as though those few close to the event seem only to feel like we stand once again on the edge of a cliff, about to dive into yet more unknowns.  
I take time on these days to get myself back in shape and form, spending hours in the training yard, practicing until my hands are raw and sweat covers my entire body. It feels like a lifetime since I last held a blade and I feel all kinds of weak and slow.  
Loghain joins me when he finds the time, other times he simply watches from the sidelines, commenting on my posture and stance until I turn on him and he retreats back into the house to busy himself elsewhere.  
It is the day before the royal wedding when we receive word from the Orlesian Grey Wardens that they will arrive before nightfall, having spent days journeying from Amaranthine. With rooms prepared and Loghain and I having worked through the details of what to say to our fellow wardens, we await their arrival with mixed earnestness. Neither of us are thrilled by the idea of outsiders swooping in as we are certain they intend to, but we know that we cannot proceed on our own. We need their aid, but we would much rather that we did not.  
Loghain stands by the window overlooking the front courtyard, hands behind his back and shoulders set proudly. Highlighted by the evening sunlight, he looks every bit the former teyrn that he is. Even in his simple black tunic and trousers he appears a warrior, a hero, and a legend. I think to myself that he must have simply been born with it. Many call me a hero, but I cannot claim to look half as worthy as he does. I am too short, too plain. My long black curls have always tended towards chaotic and frizzy, and my round face and full features more girlish than beautiful. Even my figure is wider and far less toned than a true warrior should be. I have never been able to build muscle the way Fergus can, and perhaps that is because I am a woman. But it is another thing that has annoyed me since I first took up the sword. I was so sure I ought to have been born a boy.  
“They are here.” Loghain’s deep voice pulls me from my thoughts. He turns away from the window and faces the door, his eyes meeting mine.  
I sit upwards in my seat, pushing aside my thoughts and preparing myself to meet with these strangers. Butterflies fill my stomach, and my palms grow sweaty. I have not met any Grey Wardens from before the Blight aside from Duncan, Alistair, and Riordan. I may be their superior in terms of rank, but these wardens know far more about the wardens than I do. I might as well be a new recruit. I practically am.  
Loghain offers me one last look of encouragement before the door to the salon opens and one of our elvhen servants steps inside, announcing the arrival of our guests.  
I rise to my feet as three strangers enter the room, eyes moving about their unfamiliar surroundings before glancing knowingly at Loghain, then finally settling on me.  
“Welcome, wardens,” I say with a polite nod and the most genuine smile I can muster. “It is a pleasure to meet you and to have you in my home. Please, make yourselves comfortable. You all must be exhausted from your travels. You have come such a long way.”  
All three sets of eyes react differently to my attempt at hospitality and each expression makes me as anxious as the next. The elf, a mage I assume from the staff he wears on his back, looks particularly grave and somewhat intrigued. It is as though his dark eyes are searching me for something, wandering the length of my body and back to meet my gaze.  
Behind him is a woman with long blonde hair, one side pulled back behind her ear in a braid. Her green eyes move about the room, but always seem to return to Loghain after mere seconds, as though she is making sure he is still there and not a threat.  
The third is a tall, slim man with broad shoulders and shoulder-length blonde hair, dark facial hair neatly kept in a moustache and short goatee. The set of his shoulders is stern and proud, his blue eyes narrow, thin mouth wrinkled at the edges from what could be mild disgust.  
Loghain was right to be wary of them. All three eye the room as though they have stepped into the Void itself.  
When none of them move, I decide perhaps an introduction will break the ice a little.  
“I am Rhiannon Cousland,” I say, squaring my shoulders against the tense atmosphere. “I am the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. And this,” I turn and gesture to Loghain, “is my second-in-command, Warden-Constable Loghain Mac Tir.” Loghain offers a curt nod at his name.  
The Orlesians all focus on Loghain then, uneasiness and distrust in their eyes. I should have expected this kind of response. Loghain is one of the men responsible for driving the Orlesians out of Ferelden and responsible for having killed so many of their countrymen to do so. And in more recent events, I am certain he has not been painted in the best light.  
“Thank you, Warden-Commander,” the elf finally says, his dark eyes meeting mine with an intensity that is unsettling. His accent, however, is perhaps the most surprising. That is a Starkhaven accent. I had expected Orlesian, or Fereldan. “I am Serion, Senior Warden from the Orlesian Order. These are my comrades, Melesande and Anatole.” The other two wardens bow slightly at their names.  
I smile to them all. “It is a pleasure. Please, come join us. If you are hungry, supper will be prepared shortly.”  
There is another brief silence before Serion forces a small smile and then begins towards the settee I offered to them earlier. His fellow wardens seem to relax somewhat and follow his lead.  
I return to my seat, my heart racing. Loghain takes the seat beside me, his arm brushing mine in a way that is intentional and likely meant to reassure me. At the gesture I feel my body relax, reminded by his touch and by the bond created by the Taint that flows through our blood, that I am not alone in this.  
“It is an honour to meet the warden who slew the Archdemon and ended the Blight,” Serion continues, his expression far less taut than it had been moments ago. “Everyone is most impressed that such a new warden was able to accomplish what you achieved. Myself included. Though, I do find it curious that you yet live. It has long been our understanding that it requires the life of a warden to kill an Archdemon.”  
I try my hardest not to show my uneasiness at the blatant insinuation. It is obvious by the way the three of them watch me that they have suspicions.  
“It appears you were misinformed,” Loghain says in my place, his tone as indifferent and stoic as it often is. “The Commander is proof of such. It would seem that it is not a universal fact.”  
Serion eyes Loghain coolly, calculating something I cannot decipher. “It would seem so. Most fascinating, indeed.” His gaze returns to me. “But we are not here to talk on such things. There is much more to be said on the future, rather than the past. The order must establish itself in this kingdom for the sake of the Blights to come. While this Blight is ended, time will bring another. We need recruits, Warden-Commander. As many as we can muster. You know the risks of the Joining, so we must be prepared for casualties.”  
I nod, pushing aside my nerves to assume my role with confidence. “Indeed. We have begun looking into some possible candidates. There are very few that remain in Denerim, but I am certain, should we seek them out elsewhere, we shall find the beginnings of a formidable order.”  
Serion smirks at that. “Indeed. Very good, Warden-Commander.” He glances about the room then, eyeing the furniture and the tapestries. “A Grey Warden teyrna. Fascinating. Ferelden rewards their heroes most generously.”  
Anatole smirks beside Serion. “Quite.”  
Loghain shifts beside me, his back straight, hands in his lap. “We are to be comrades, are we not? Perhaps we could pretend to be on the same page. We are all Grey Wardens, and we would see the order thrive in Ferelden to benefit us all.”  
Loghain’s bluntness earns a few smiles from our guests.  
“You are as bold as the gossips say,” Anatole says quite amused, his thin lips pulled upwards and his Orlesian accent coating his words like a thick layer of honey.  
Melesande eyes Loghain curiously, though still does not say a word.  
Serion, smiling coolly, nods and shifts in his seat as though making himself comfortable. “You are right, Warden-Constable. We mean no disrespect. We find your kingdom…quaint. And we are at your service.”

The Orlesians retire early following their long journey and Loghain and I retreat to the office, closing the door behind us and breathing a sigh of relief to be free of those piercing eyes and endless smirks.  
“Damn Orlesians,” Loghain says with a shudder as he settles down onto a chair by the hearth, Hero resting his head on his lap and enjoying the pets. “Must they stay here in the house? Surely they could take rooms at an inn.”  
I sigh, leaning back into my chair as far as it will allow. “No, we need them here. When the recruits begin arriving, we will need them established here and familiar with the house and grounds. I will leave the estate in their hands when we travel outside of the city.”  
I can see the displeasure in Loghain’s twisted sneer, but he nods. “As you say, Commander.”  
“They are far more conceded than I expected,” I say after a brief silence.  
Loghain snorts a small laugh at that. “They are Orlesian.”  
I roll my eyes childishly, as I so often do when speaking with Fergus. It feels a little odd to be doing so with Loghain. “As you keep saying. I admit I did not entirely grasp what you mean by that. ‘They are Orlesian’. But now I think I do. Are they all like that?”  
Loghain’s eyes remain fixed on the hearth, his mind seemingly miles away suddenly. “All that I have met, yes.”


	5. I Did It For Ferelden

Standing before my mirror in my chamber, I find myself turning and adjusting myself endlessly, unsure what to make of the latest gown Anora has sent to me. Red silk with gold trimming that crosses over the bosom. Bell sleeves that nearly touch the floor and a neckline that is a good deal too low for my liking. The entire gown feels a little small as it clings to my figure frightfully. Perhaps Loghain was correct when he told me I have gained a little weight over the past weeks.  
There is a soft knock at the door then that startles me.  
“Your Ladyship, Warden Loghain is waiting for you in the foyer. He asks that you hurry as you are already late.”  
I sigh and make for the door, praying that the day and night pass quickly. When I open the door abruptly, caught in my frustration, the elvhen servant bounces away from it in shock.  
“Sorry,” I say as I hurry down the corridor.  
Loghain is standing by the door, his back turned to me as I descend the stairs. He turns when I approach him, revealing the detail of a rather expensive looking black and gold tunic and coat. I must admit, even at his age he is an incredibly handsome man. I cannot recall him without those deepening wrinkles as I was too young when they would have not been there, but I do not care to. They suit him, as odd as it is to think. They are part of him. Proof of a life long lived and all of the hardships he has endured and outlived.  
As though matching my scrutiny, his blue eyes trail the length of me before they meet mine with an annoyed frown.  
“I thought we might miss the ceremony before you bothered to show yourself.”  
I sigh, a smile on my lips. “Perfection takes time, Loghain. I would not expect you to understand that.”  
He laughs softly at that, his frown fading completely, replaced by a warmth that I had not expected. “Let us be on our way before we really do miss it. That would give the nobility something to talk about; the Warden-Commander and the Queen’s traitorous father absent from the royal wedding. I admit I am tempted to be, simply for the sake of it.”  
“But then we would not get to see them squirm when they see that you decided to attend despite their disapproval. I think it worth attending for that alone. That, and the cake and wine.”  
Another laugh. “Perhaps you are right. To the palace then.”

The royal wedding is less extravagant than I had imagined it would be, but my idea of a royal wedding has long been tainted by the childish fantasies of a girl who spent far too much time reading fairy tales. Despite my high expectations, I admit it is a memorable ceremony, the entire hall filled with every noble I can name and many more.   
While Loghain is free to keep to the back of the hall out of direct eyesight, Anora insists that I take a place at the front. And so, I oblige, though I spend the entirety of the ceremony wishing I were anywhere else.  
Alistair meets my gaze before Anora appears and the wordless exchange between us threatens to tear me apart in front of all these people. There is so much fear and pain in those eyes in that moment that I had not expected to see so openly. Those wounds I inflicted on him when I spared Loghain’s life and ended our relationship are still so raw. I had thought us moving past it, but it would seem there is still much that I cannot mend. I broke his heart; I know that now. And I think perhaps we shall never be friends again. He is to be the king, and he is about to marry another woman. It is done. He is not mine anymore. Not my friend, not my lover, not even my fellow warden or comrade. He is King Alistair Theirin. Maker how badly this hurts.

Music fills the hall and I feel as though I am reliving every party I have attended over the past month. Once again, I am surrounded by relative strangers, withdrawing from the conversations and mingling to hide away in my own little corner, desperately wishing the night would end.  
Drink in hand I lean against an all too familiar column, thankful to have one friend amongst this sea of strangers.  
Glancing around the room, I catch the eye of someone I had hoped to avoid completely. Teagan offers a bright smile across the crowd and I begin to panic, certain he intends to seek me out.  
“I have been within the palace several hours now and the Maker has yet to strike me down. How the banns must loathe me for it.”  
Loghain’s voice beside me fills me with relief as I see Teagan seemingly disappear into the crowd from view.  
I let out a thankful sigh and relax against the column.  
Loghain eyes me, his expression unreadable. “Should you not be out there mingling with these lords and ladies? Warden business and all of that.”  
“Yes, I should be.” My reply is blunt and earns a smirk.  
“I would say these things become easier to endure, but they do not. I cannot tell you how many idiotic parties I have attended in my time and how forgettable they have all been.”  
I take a large mouthful of wine that makes Loghain sneer in disapproval. “This is to celebrate your daughter’s marriage. I thought you might be a little less critical of it.”  
Loghain snorts. “Hardly. And this is the second time I have seen my daughter married off. It is hardly any different from the first.”  
“Let us be hopeful that this union succeeds where her last did not.”  
Loghain eyes me then, something knowing in his gaze. “This new husband is much like Cailan in some ways, but more like Maric than his half-brother was. He is not the fool he sometimes acts, and he respects Anora. Already they have proven an admirable team. I do not think we have much to fear from the two of them.”  
My eyes find the newlyweds then where they sit together at the front of the hall. Anora is smiling kindly at those who speak with her, while Alistair seems a little out of place. It is not that he looks uncomfortable as such, rather he sits regally and speaks with the man in front of him with an ease that I am unfamiliar with. Perhaps that is what makes him look like he does not belong. The fact that he so clearly does. He has changed, matured, grown. Anora has made progress in moulding him into a king and a husband. He is not that Alistair I knew from Ostagar any longer. That is what makes it so strange to me. He is someone else entirely. He is a stranger to me.  
As though sensing my eyes on him, Alistair’s gaze meets mine and I feel myself being pulled abruptly into the past by what I see there. A warmth, a familiarity. But it is fleeting, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. He looks away, and I do the same, taking another large gulp of my wine.  
“I need some air.” I do not bother to wait for a reply from Loghain as I turn away from him and hurry through the hall towards the nearest door. All I can think about is getting away from all of this.

The cool night air feels incredible, wrapping around me from where I stand on the balcony overlooking the gardens below. My heart remains tight and aching in my chest, but I feel as though I can breathe a little better out here, away from that crowd and all of those painful memories.  
All this time I have known that my feelings for Alistair had been not nearly as deep as his had been for me, and yet the pain and guilt I feel when he looks at me is unbearable. It is a shame that I will likely carry to my pyre. No matter how many times I relive that day in my mind I cannot think of how things ended so badly. Recruiting Loghain had been the deciding choice, I know this, but Alistair was mine. I thought for certain he would see reason. I knew his hate for Loghain was immense after Ostagar and losing Duncan, but I had misjudged the truth of it. How can I blame him? If my friend had sworn to avenge my family, then spared Rendon Howe’s life right in front of my eyes, I do not think I could forgive them either. I do not blame Alistair for his feelings, rather I blame myself for having caused them.  
“You will catch a cold out here dressed like that.”  
My heart catches in my throat, my body stiffening.  
Alistair sighs and comes to stand beside me, leaning against the bannister with his hands. He tilts his head back and looks up at the stars above us, his expression unreadable but lacking that pain and hate that I have become so accustomed to now.  
“Should you not be inside with your wife?” I wince at the iciness of my own words, but I am losing a struggle against my tears and so focus on holding them back rather than regret.  
Alistair closes his eyes as though pretending not to have heard what I said. After a moment they reopen and he looks down at me beside him, those familiar eyes piercing into me.  
“It was supposed to be you.”  
Those few words feel like knives in my chest, the stark honesty in his tone is disarming. I thought us beyond this. Beyond talking together in such a way. Beyond any form of familiarity.  
My bottom lip quivers and I turn my face away to hide the tear that breaks free.  
“No, we both know it was not.”  
Alistair turns to me then. “Yes, it was! For Maker’s sake, Rhi, that was the entire plan, wasn’t it? Win over the Landsmeet, take down Loghain, make him pay for what he did to Duncan and Cailan, cast aside Anora and then we rule together. Is that not what we discussed a thousand times with Eamon at Redcliffe and then here in his estate?”  
The tears continue to flow, and I tremble from the cold and my own heartache. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to warm my body and protect myself against this onslaught that I rightfully deserve.  
Alistair lets out an exasperated and shaken sigh. “I just-” He groans, and I can hear the tears in his voice. “I loved you. Maker did I love you. I thought that was it. You defeated him and that was it. We had won. You would be mine and we would face everything together.”  
“Alistair-“  
“I just want to know why you did it,” he continues, cutting off my plea. “I assume you must not have loved me as I thought you did. But if you did not want to marry me you could have just told me.”  
The pain in his voice near splits my heart in two. I cannot do this any longer. Maker, it feels as though this pain might kill me.  
I turn to him then, tears spilling from my eyes, sobs rattling my body. “I did love you,” I confess, the truth of this revelation feeling like something of a release. Like solving a puzzle after so many months of not being able to understand it in the slightest. “I truly did. But I could not be your queen.”  
Alistair frowns coldly. “So that is it then? That is why you spared him?”  
Disbelief ceases my ability to speak for a moment.  
“You think I spared Loghain because I wanted an excuse to get out of marrying you? Do you really think so little of me, Alistair? That I would ever knowingly hurt you like that?”  
Alistair gives a dramatic shrug. “But you did, didn’t you? I told you then that I would leave the wardens and that we would be done. Yet you still went through with it.”  
“Because it was the right thing to do! We are wardens! There was a bloody Blight on our doorstep! We needed him. Ferelden needed him.”  
Alistair snorts. “We already had three of us. The same number of wardens you faced down the Archdemon with despite your attempt to gain one. How does that make sense to you?”  
“Because he is Loghain Mac Tir!” My voice carries through the garden and hits Alistair much like a punch to the face. “He is not just some knight or some warrior, Alistair. He has served Ferelden for decades and has spent a lifetime fighting for what he believes in. Everything he did was for Ferelden. I cannot justify his leaving Cailan and Duncan to die, but I know that he believed he had no choice.”  
The look of horror and disgust on Alistair’s face is sickening. This is it, I think to myself. There is no turning back. This is the moment I lose him forever. He will never forgive me now.  
His lip quivers and he takes a step away from me. “You cannot mean that.”  
I cry out in frustration and turn away from him fully. “There is no one explanation for it, Alistair. My reasonings will never make sense to you, and nor should they. I spared the man responsible for so much death and suffering. Whatever hate you have for me is rightfully had. I will not ask for your forgiveness because I do not deserve it. But I did what I thought I had to. I did it for my friends. I did it for Ferelden.”  
Hurrying from the balcony, I wipe away my tears, my jaw clenched tightly against my rising anger. I hate him for cornering me like that, but most of all I hate myself for what I have done to him. He never wanted to be king, but I persuaded him to accept it. He never wanted to marry Anora, but I forced his hand. He never wanted to lose me, but I pushed him away. It is all my fault.


	6. A Hunter

With the royal wedding concluded and Ferelden officially welcoming their new king, the Orlesian Wardens, Loghain and I set to work finding recruits to join our ranks. We receive information on a few candidates and spend the following days seeking them out. Loghain and I take a few days to visit the surrounding villages around Denerim asking locals about any skilled warriors that they know of. After what happened with Alistair, I am more than eager to be away from the city and the palace.  
Many were killed at Ostagar and during the months that followed, but we encounter one inn keeper in a small village to the south of Denerim who tells us of a man who keeps to himself and lives near the edge of the northern boundary of the Brecilian Forest.  
“We do not have need for a simple hunter, friend,” Loghain says to the inn keeper with a heavy frown.  
The inn keeper shifts under Loghain’s intense gaze. “He’s no simple hunter, ser. He knows the Brecilian Forest as well as any Dalish. Maybe he’s one of them half-bloods.” The old man gives a shrug. “He might be worth a look. I can’t say for certain, but you asked if I knew of anyone skilled in the area. I’d say he’s your best bet.”  
That night we rent a room at that inn and set off towards the Brecilian Forest before dawn.

It is an old hut, tucked behind a hill and all but falling apart. A small garden grows on the hillside and there are several rabbits hanging lifeless from makeshift racks by the door. The ground is upturned and muddy with a trail leading towards the edge of the forest showing a path well walked.  
“It is a wonder that the horde did not destroy this place,” I say as we approach. It seems strange that this place should remain untouched. Many of the villages nearby were burned to the ground when the darkspawn army came through on their march for Denerim.  
Hero weaves his way through the site with his nose to the ground, breathing heavily and eager to investigate all there is to smell.  
“Perhaps the horde did not pass this way.” Loghain’s reply is dry, his curiosity clearly not as deep as mine. “We are not far from the Amaranthine. I can smell the ocean.”  
I inhale deeply and nod. “Yes, as can I. I suppose it makes sense that the darkspawn did not bother to venture this far east.”  
When we reach the hut, I knock on the door, but we receive no answer.  
“We are Grey Wardens, ser,” I say through the old, dry wood. “We wish only to speak with you.”  
Silence. Loghain and I exchange a glance before Loghain moves back to the pathway we noted on our arrival. He crouches by the trail, eyes narrowing.   
“It rained overnight. These footprints are recent.” He points to a set of prints that are pressed into the fresh mud. “He must be in the forest. Hunting, perhaps.”  
I nod, sighing a little in frustration and exhaustion. “Then we wait. I could use a break anyway.”   
Loghain rises to his feet. “If we do not leave for town soon, we will not make it back before nightfall.”  
“Then we can make camp.”  
“We have no tents. No bedrolls.”  
I offer a challenging smile. “And? We can sleep out under the stars. After weeks in the city that sounds wonderful to me.”  
“And what if it rains?”  
“Then we will be nice and fresh and clean for tomorrow.”  
Loghain sighs, unimpressed by my enthusiasm. “I say we wait an hour and if he does not show, we leave a note and make for town.”  
I pout but relent. “Very well. You always ruin the fun.”  
The hour passes quickly, Loghain rising to his feet before long.  
“He has not returned. We need to leave now before it gets dark.”  
I sigh and reluctantly rise from the small log I have become acquainted with. Hero stretches wearily having slept through our wait. He gives a powerful yawn, but then quickly turns on his heel, eyes fixed on the edge of the forest.  
A man emerges from the trees then, donning a set of leather armour and a fur cape. His dark brown hair is shoulder length and tied back crudely. Boots lathered in mud and hair damp and unkept, he looks very much like the hunter I had imagined. But his narrow brow and black eyes are more unnerving than expected.  
Despite noting our presence and knowing us to be strangers, the man does not hesitate as he approaches us, bow in hand and rabbits strung over his free shoulder. Without a word he passes us along his path and tosses the rabbits over the rack along with the others that have already been gutted.  
He kneels then, placing his bow against the side of the hut casually, but close enough to still be of use to him should we prove a danger. He then takes a knife from a holster on his leg and begins to work on the rabbits, slicing down their stomach and emptying the contents into a bowl beneath.  
“I don’t get many visitors,” he says, voice low and deep. “You’re either here to kill me, arrest me, or you think you have use for me. Which is it, then?”  
I clear my throat, realizing I have been staring at him until this moment. Even without speaking he is intimidating. Honestly, he reminds me of Loghain. It is uncanny.  
“The latter.”  
Black eyes glance over me briefly. “A woman. But a woman with swords. A warrior then?”  
“Grey Warden,” I reply.  
This earns his attention. He turns slightly, eyes meeting mine. “You’re her, then? The one that killed the Archdemon?”  
I nod, a little bashful at being recognized even in a place such as this. “Rhiannon Cousland, Warden-Commander of the Ferelden Order.”  
The man smirks, then his eyes narrow on Loghain. “So that’d make you the traitor teyrn.”  
“Warden-Constable Loghain Mac Tir,” I correct him, grey eyes narrowing.   
Loghain smirks. “You are well informed for a recluse.” His tone is mocking and acidic. “The innkeeper was correct. You are no simple hunter.”  
The man shrugs and returns to his rabbits. “When is anything in life ever simple? Not even you high-borns and lords are stupid enough to think it ever is.”  
Loghain makes a show of eyeing the hut and the surrounding area. “You have an impressive set up here. Oddly permanent for someone like you.”  
The man’s eyes return to Loghain. “Someone like me? What do you know of ‘someone like me’?”  
“I was you.” Loghain’s eyes hold the man’s. “There are only so many reasons why someone would leave behind civilization as you have. One, you are a criminal. But that makes little sense because too many people know your location. Two, you hate people and want to live alone. That too makes little sense since the people we spoke to did not mention anything bad. Some even said you have helped them in the past. Or three, you are hiding from something, not someone. Guilt, perhaps. Or a purpose. You are not a mage, that is obvious, so you do not hide from the templars.”  
A wide smirk pulls at the man’s mouth and he rises to his feet, the knife in his hand swinging about skillfully before he wipes it on a piece of old cloth.  
“You’re as clever as they say, Warden-Constable. Now that has to be a first. Gossips rarely make a reliable source of information.”  
Loghain eyes him levelly. “We did not come here to impress you.”  
The other man snorts, black eyes turning to me. “Well then, I can assume the purpose of your coming here does not involve my famous rabbit jerky.”  
“We are seeking recruits,” I say, stepping forward. “We have need of skilled warriors for the Grey Wardens.”  
He scoffs. “I am no warrior, Commander.”  
“But you are skilled, are you not?”  
Those black eyes watch me then, searching my depths and seeking something. “I am a hunter. I track, I am skilled with a bow and knives. I have contacts and I know the land better than anyone. Are these the skills the Grey Wardens need?”  
I look to Loghain then as though asking his opinion.  
“They are,” Loghain answers for me. “We do not only need skilled warriors, but skilled minds. You do not seem a fool to me.”  
The man laughs. “Well, then, that is a relief. I am glad to know two complete strangers do not think me stupid.” He falls silent then, still smiling a little but thinking deeply on what we have said. He turns to his small hut, eyeing it. “I hear the Grey Wardens is a life commitment, is that true?”  
I nod. “It is. If you join us, you will not return to this place.”  
He nods too, eyes moving back to mine. “Well, I’d be a fool for sure if I turned down an offer like this. I will join your order, Warden-Commander. I only ask that you allow me a few days to gather my belongings and affairs. I will seek you out in Denerim.”  
It is as though whatever was clasped around my heart and stomach during this encounter simply releases at his words. I feel my entire body soften, my heart ceases beating erratically.  
“I am pleased to hear it,” I say with a smile. “When you arrive in Denerim, come to the Palace District. The Wardens are taking up residence in my estate there.”  
The man scoffs. “I will get to live in the Palace District? Andraste’s mercy, what a strange day this has been.”  
“What is your name, recruit?” Loghain asks, blue eyes remaining fixed on the other man, though there is amusement within them.  
“Bran,” he replies, smiling brightly. “No last name, but wardens don’t need one do they?”  
Hero, who has remained by my side until now, begins to approach Bran warily, sniffing at him.  
“A Mabari hound,” Bran says, lowering himself to Hero’s eye level. “It has been a while since I saw one of those. Aren’t you a fierce looking fellow?”  
The sun begins to set when Loghain, Hero and I leave Bran’s hut and make for the nearest village. We walk mostly in silence, caught in our own thoughts and recalling what has transpired this afternoon. I feel a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders. We have our first actual recruit. After weeks of coming up short, it feels as though we are finally making progress.


	7. The First Joining

Bran arrives at the estate three days later carrying with him his bow and a small pack with his belongings. He takes a bunk in a room upstairs and is later joined by a recruit Anatole found in the city, an older man the Orlesian said was once a bounty hunter. Bran seems amused by the gruff, expressionless roommate, but does not complain about him.   
Fergus sent word during those days Loghain and I were out of the city, detailing the plans to return to Highever at the end of the week and so I set about preparing the estate for my absence.  
“You will take command whilst I am gone, Serion,” I say as we stand in my office, going over reports and documents as we have made our daily routine. Loghain is out in the training yard with the recruits, testing skills and assessing abilities. I find myself glancing out the window to watch them more frequently than Serion would probably like.  
“Of course, Commander.” Those dark eyes glance up from the letter in his hands. “Are you to be in Highever long?”  
I shake my head, knowing full well that he considers this trip a pointless waste of precious warden time. “No. A month at most. Loghain and I will see to finding some more recruits whilst we are there. Our father kept a garrison of talented knights. If any remain, I will seek them out.”  
Serion nods. “Very good, Commander.”  
A shout from the training yard draws my attention to the window once again, and this time I decide to observe the training properly. I move to the window and push it open to find Loghain instructing one of Melesande’s recruits who is covered in scrapes and bruises.  
“That Hida girl is quick with blades, but not strong enough against frontal attack,” I observe as I watch the sparring continue. “I thought Melesande would be more particular with her recruits.”  
Serion sighs. “Melesande may have the discipline of an ex-Templar, but she also has the sympathy of a Chantry Sister. I imagine Hida had only to make puppy eyes and spin some sorry tale and Melesande would have lapped it up. The girl will either survive the Joining and improve, or she will die.”  
Serion’s endless indifference and coldness makes me shudder, but I know that he means only to further the Grey Wardens’ strength and power. He reminds me of Loghain in a lot of ways, only far less impressed with anything I have to say. He is loyal, however, and wise beyond his years.  
My eyes settle on Bran then as he pauses a moment to catch his breath. For someone who claims to have little practice with a blade, he is improving remarkably well. As he takes up a stance against his opponent once again, I note the precision of his posture and hold of the blade. Loghain is watching him too, I notice, and with the same knowing curiosity that I am. We are well aware that there is more to Bran than he has told us, but it would seem there is a history of swordplay involved.

It is the night before Loghain and I are to leave with Fergus for Highever when the first Joining ritual takes place. Serion, Melesande and Anatole prepare the ceremony throughout the day while the recruits train with Loghain and then settle in the great hall, awaiting their fates.  
Serion objects to informing the recruits of the danger they face with the ritual, but I overrule him. I choose instead to be as transparent as possible with the recruits without revealing any important Grey Warden secrets.  
“I will not lie, there is a very real danger in undertaking the Joining,” I tell them as they sit together in the hall, seven nervous faces glancing at one another, unsure what to make of this revelation. “But know that it is a chance that we have all taken before you. You came to us in order to become Grey Wardens to fight against the darkspawn and guard Thedas against the Blight. It is a small risk to take when you consider what is at stake and the duty you will assume.”  
As I retake my place at the table with Loghain and the Orlesian wardens, I pray that my words will give the recruits the strength for what they must face.

Sitting in front of the hearth in the salon, I lean forward in my chair, elbows on my thighs and a glass of whiskey in my hands. I sigh heavily and close my eyes, remembering the faces of those who did not survive the night and praying to the Maker that they find peace.  
The door opens and closes softly, footsteps moving through the room to the sidebar where I can hear a drink being poured, then a large body taking the chair beside me.  
“The pyres have burned down,” Loghain tells me, his voice low and seemingly exhausted.  
My eyes open and meet his to find his aging face sunken. There is a pain in his eyes that would not be visible to most people, but I have come to recognize it well.  
“Three new wardens,” I say through another sigh, sitting back into my chair. “Four deaths. I had not expected there to be so many who died in the first Joining.”  
Loghain nods and takes a drink of his whiskey. “Neither had I. But it is done now. As you say, we now have three new wardens. That is favourable to none.”  
I scoff under my breath, darkly amused by his blunt logic. “At least Bran survived. He will make a great warden, I think. Whoever he is or whatever he was, he is talented and easily the best of any of the recruits.”  
“I agree.”  
Silence falls between us and somehow it feels uncomfortable to me tonight. Loghain and I often sit together in the salon with nothing to say, simply taking time to think on the day or on matters we have discussed. But tonight, there is a pit in my stomach that sickens me. Denerim feels smothering to me. This estate no less so. There is this ache in my chest that feels ready to explode, like a need to break free of something, but I cannot figure out what.  
I swallow what remains of my drink and rise to my feet. “I will see you in the morning, Loghain.”  
“Commander.”  
In my chamber I find myself pacing the room, my skin crawling, and my heart racing. I feel like I am on the verge of a meltdown and I do not know what has triggered it. The world feels as though it is closing in around me lately. That night on the balcony with Alistair, the thought of soon returning to Highever and to the place where I witnessed the death of so many I cared about, and tonight losing four recruits to the Joining.  
Hero watches me with worried eyes from his place at the end of the bed, and he whines now and then as though asking me if I am okay.  
My legs give way and I collapse on the edge of my bed, my teeth grinding together and my head in my hands. But I do not cry. It is not grief that ails me. It is fear, it is frustration. I am furious at myself for being so weak. I am furious at myself for not doing better.   
A wet nose touches my ear and I open my eyes to see Hero beside me, begging me to talk to him, to share my burdens with him. I let out a frustrated laugh and offer him a pet.  
“I am sorry for worrying you, boy,” I say to him, knowing full well that he can understand me. “I need to do better. I need to be stronger. So many people have faith in me, and they rely on me. I hardly deserve what I have.”  
Hero tilts his head and whines, no doubt trying to tell me that I am wrong, but I know better than to agree with him.  
“It is okay, Hero. I will not let myself be overwhelmed anymore. Tomorrow we travel to Highever. I will face my demons, and I will grow stronger for it. Just as I always have.”


	8. He Is Still A Traitor

Denerim fades into the distance in the morning sunrise and I feel as though I am being released from my role as the Warden-Commander, even if for only a short while. Out here, in the wilderness of Ferelden, I feel like myself again. Rhiannon Cousland, plain and simple. No Grey Wardens, no duties, no titles. I am me, and it is incredibly liberating.  
Having Fergus close only strengthens that feeling. It has been a long time since I travelled with my brother and I admit, despite his sometimes insufferable personality, I have missed it dearly. I have missed the days of Fergus and Rhiannon. Those days when we would wake early and ride off into the valley on our horses, or disappear into the forest for hours hunting, or sometimes only pretending to be, just to get away from the castle and our parents.  
That night when we make camp, I find myself sneaking away from the main group with Hero on my tail as always and taking out the map that Teagan gifted me back in Redcliffe. As I detail it with my eyes, I cannot help but smile, thinking of the map Father made for me all those years ago. The one with the creatures and magical curiosities. It seems strange to think that in mere days I will be back in my childhood home, but all of those things that made it my home will be gone. My map one of those things surely lost forever.  
“You should eat.”  
I glance up to see Loghain standing over me, his hand outstretched to me with a bowl. His blue eyes hold mine steadily, something in them that I do not recognize. It is a look that has appeared in his gaze frequently in the recent weeks and I cannot decide what it means. It is neither hostile, but neither is it friendly. It is a confused mixture of something that lacks my understanding.  
I set the map down on the grass in front of me and take the bowl with a small smile.  
“Thank you, Loghain.”  
He takes a seat opposite me on the grass, busying himself with his broth. Hero moves from my side to lie down beside him, resting his large square head on Loghain’s thigh. Loghain pets Hero and his eyes lower to the map between us. He pauses a moment, eyeing it with a mixture of confusion and surprise.  
“I did not think such maps remained in Ferelden.”  
“Nor did I,” I say and swallow a mouthful of my food. “I came across this one in Redcliffe Castle, in the library. It was whilst you were scouting the horde. I could not sleep for all the nightmares. Teagan gifted it to me.”  
Loghain nods and leans closer to the map, a finger trailing along the places where the borders between the kingdoms ought to have been. “I have not seen one of these in decades. Maric had them destroyed. I thought to keep a copy for my own curiosity, but I was young and tossed my own into the fire.”  
I glance up at him. “Do you like maps?”  
His eyes meet mine. “Do I like them? Well, I suppose that I do. It has been a hobby of mine to collect them since the rebellion. Strategy and war became my life, where hunting and exploring had once occupied my time. Maps represent both. I find them entirely fascinating.”  
A smile spreads across my face and something in my stomach stirs. An odd delight at finding another who shares my passion. And Loghain, of all people. “I always snuck into Father’s office and took out his old maps. I often pretended I had travelled to all the places I saw on them and told Fergus and Gilmore the most ridiculous made-up stories about my adventures. I must have seemed the fool to them, but we had a lot of fun imagining our travels. Fergus and I made a promise that we would board a pirate ship and travel Thedas and beyond the known seas. Of course, then he went and got married and I was left to mourn that promise.”  
Loghain smiles softly, a warmth in his gaze that takes me off guard. “I can imagine.”  
Flustered by this odd gentleness, I move my gaze back down to the map quickly, forcing another spoonful of broth into my mouth.  
We are silent for a short while as we finish our meals. Loghain continues to trace the map with his eyes and comments briefly on a few key locations from the rebellion where King Maric’s forces had encountered King Meghren’s armies.   
“And the River Dane, of course,” I say, pointing to the place on the map where the river is merely a line drawn across the flat landscape. “Arguably the most important location during the rebellion.”  
Loghain scoffs. “Arguably. But yes, that is where Rowan and I met the chevaliers en-route to bolster Meghren’s battered army.”  
I smile down at the tiny river line. “And where you became a legend. It is odd how one day can change your life.”  
“It is.”  
We fall into another silence then, but it is quickly broken by Loghain rising to his feet. When I glance up at him with a questioning look, he offers a smirk.  
“I volunteered for the second watch. I should sleep whilst I am able. You ought to do the same, Commander. The reports coming from Amaranthine have been filled with darkspawn activity. We cannot say what we will encounter as we pass by the arling.”  
He leaves then, taking my empty bowl with his and disappearing behind the tents. When he is gone, I glance back down at the map and reach for it, beginning to roll it up to pack it away. Hero watches after Loghain with a dog-like pout that makes me laugh under my breath.  
“You two are pretty close.”  
Fergus appears, dropping heavily onto the ground beside me and seating himself leisurely on the grass. He eyes me with a smirk before turning his attention to the stars above.  
“We are two of the five Ferelden Grey Wardens, and he is my second.”  
Fergus shrugs nonchalantly. “He is also Loghain Mac Tir, the traitor teyrn and the Hero of River Dane. Not quite your everyday companion or friend.”  
I sigh. “What is your point, Fergus? Are you here to warn me about him like everyone else has?”  
He chuckles. “Well, now that you mention it.” When I groan his eyes meet mine again. “But honestly, Rhi, are you certain you can trust him?”  
I turn towards him then, frowning coldly. “Is there a reason that I should not? Maker, Fergus, has he not proven himself loyal? He has listened to my every command and supported me through everything from the moment I spared his life.”  
“Perhaps, but he still betrayed King Cailan and almost caused a civil war.”  
“He also freed Ferelden from one hundred years of occupation and served the kingdom loyally for thirty years.”  
Fergus sighs. “I do not mean to undermine those things, Rhi, but he is still a traitor.”  
“Why must I defend him to you of all people, Fergus?” I run a frustrated hand down my face. “Why does no one trust my judgement?”  
“Rhi, I didn’t mean-”  
I turn away from him then and pull my knees up under my chin, wrapping my arms around them. “Forget about it. It matters little what anyone thinks of what I did, or what he did. He is a warden now. What came before is forgotten by the order.”  
Fergus sits forwards, tugging at blades of grass with thick fingers. “Forgive me, Rhi. It’s just…” He sighs. “We will be in Highever soon. I cannot seem to think straight. I miss it so much, but there is a part of me wishes I could turn away and never go back.”  
I swallow the mixture of anger and grief that threatens tears. “I know exactly what you mean.”  
We stay like that for a while, talking now and then about nothing important and offering Hero pets and praise as he seeks them. It reminds me of my life from before all of this. For a moment I really do feel like I am back there. Staring up at those stars I pretend that time has moved backwards, and we are just Fergus and Rhiannon. But it does not last. Exhaustion gets the better of us after a time and we part ways for out tents. Hero takes his place at the opening of my tent and I crawl inside, set aside my armour, and tuck myself into my bedroll. Closing my eyes, my mind subconsciously focusing on the hum in the back of my mind that tells me that Loghain is sleeping only metres from me in the next tent. A reminder that things have changed, and I am now just a warden.


	9. Hero the Mabari

On the second day we encounter the first of the darkspawn that the Orlesian Grey Wardens stationed in Amaranthine have reported over the past weeks since their arrival at Vigil’s Keep. We do not take the main road through the area, knowing that it is dangerous to travel at the moment, and so encounter stragglers in the wilderness. They are not large in number, but enough that we engage in several decent battles, though we suffer only mild injuries within our travel party and no casualties.  
“I had hoped I would never see another blighted darkspawn in my lifetime,” Fergus grumbles through panted breaths as we gather ourselves in the wake of the third ambush of the day.  
“We should push further today,” Loghain says as he reaches Fergus and I after having assessed the injuries of Fergus’ guards. “Defer westward and steer clear of Amaranthine altogether. It may add a half-day to a day onto our journey, but we should, in theory, encounter fewer darkspawn.”  
Fergus eyes Loghain a moment as though unsure what to think of his blatant proposal, but when I nod in agreement, he seems to relax a little.  
“I agree,” I say, straightening and sheathing my weapons. “It will not serve us well to keep on this path. The men are exhausted already, and we risk casualties if we continue ahead.”  
Loghain meets my eyes with a look of approval before he turns on his heel and marches across the clearing to gather our hurriedly abandoned horses.  
“At least the legends were true,” Fergus chuckles to himself.  
I raise an eyebrow at him.  
“Loghain fights unlike anything I have ever seen. And at his age,” he chuckles again. “It is impressive.”  
I sigh and offer a small smile. “Yes, well, he certainly is.”  
Fergus glances around at the darkspawn bodies that litter the grass. “You aren’t too bad yourself, little sister. I counted near a dozen done in by you alone.”  
“I have had my fair share of practice these past months,” I reply with a smirk. “Plenty of darkspawn needed killing during the Blight. Not to mention that Archdemon I put a sword through.”  
Fergus scoffs. “Hah! Yes, well, we can't all be legendary wardens.”  
After tending to wounds and taking a small break, we mount our horses and continue on our journey towards Highever. We do as Loghain suggested and venture further to the west, relieved to find far less darkspawn in that direction. When the sun sets, we make camp by a river in a clearing that we hope is wide enough to allow enough time to respond to any potential surprise attacks.   
With my tent erected beside Loghain’s on the edge of the camp, I set about removing my armour. Loghain is to take first watch tonight whilst I take second. After a long day of riding and fighting, I am thankful to be relieved of the first watch. The bruises on my side from where a genlock managed to land a blunt blow with a shield this afternoon aches. Fergus had left himself open and I had defended his blind spot, taking the blow meant for him.  
“You will need to see a smith about that when we reach Highever.” Loghain appears beside me, his eyes on my injured side. “I can try to mend it if you wish, but it will be crude at best.”  
I frown down at the place where his eyes are directed, but I cannot see what he does.  
He sighs and takes a seat on a blanket that I set out between our tents and the campfire. “Take it off and let me have a proper look at it.”  
As I unbuckle my plackart Hero trades my company for Loghain’s and I find myself snorting in the silence, earning a questioning look from my Mabari.  
“At this point he is your dog rather than mine.”  
Loghain reaches into the pouch on his hip and retrieves a small strip of dried meat, feeding it Hero who crews on it happily. “He is not. If he had to chose between you and I, he would not pick me.”  
I huff a small laugh. “That is little reassurance. He readily choses you for company almost any other time.” I meet Hero’s questioning gaze and frown down at him. “Hero, you little turncoat. Is my attention not good enough for you now? Or does it so happen to be that Loghain carries the finer treats? A complete coincidence, I am certain.”  
Hero whines and tilts his head, his eyes going between Loghain and I, clearly unsure whether to return to my side or remain where he is.  
I sigh and my plackart comes free. When I hold it up to the firelight, I can detail what it was Loghain had been talking about. No wonder my side aches so badly. There is a dent in the silverite larger than my hand. It is not so deep, but definitely the remnants of a hefty blow.   
“Ouch,” I say as I hand the plackart to Loghain who examines it. I lift my shirt a little to find impressive bruises covering my ribs and side. I inhale sharply when they sting under the light touch of my finger. “Fergus owes me for that one.”  
Loghain eyes the bruises before turning his attention back to the plackart. “If you carried a shield that would not have happened.”  
I laugh and take a seat beside him on the blanket. “You sound like Fergus. Apparently, I am asking for trouble without one.”  
Loghain raises an eyebrow and places the plackart aside on the blanket. “Not necessarily. You have done well enough when there were not brothers in need of saving. I think you defensible enough without one.”  
“And what of my armour? It will need a smith, I assume.”  
He nods. “Yes, but I think we ought to see about new armour when we return to Denerim. Serion mentioned having us measured for warden armour.”  
I raise an eyebrow. “You would give up your silverite?”  
There is a moment of hesitation, but he nods slowly, eyes on the campfire and his hand stroking Hero’s dozing head. “Thirty years is a long time of wearing the same suit. I think it time it retired. Besides, it belongs to Teyrn Loghain, not Warden Loghain.”  
I think to question him further on it, not quite understanding his decision, but I know better than to. I am certain it was not a decision made easily, even if it is a practical one.  
Instead I hold my tongue and watch Loghain’s hand as it continues to pet Hero’s head and ears, my heart swelling a little. I may feel a small pang of rejection when Hero leaves me for Loghain, but this is a bond I had not expected. Hero has always been friendly with my companions, but never to this extent. They share a unique bond not too dissimilar to my own bond with the hound.  
“I do not believe I have heard of any Mabari named Hero.” Loghain’s voice is low and curious, breaking the brief silence between us. “A unique name if not original. I thought children named their pets after legends or something ordinary such as Dog or Spot. Hero seems vague for someone as decided as you.”  
I smile and laugh softly. “What should I have called him then? But you are right about children, I suppose. He is named after someone I admired greatly as a child.”  
Loghain raises a curious eyebrow. “Is that so?”  
I nod. “Hero is the shortened version, of course. The Hero of River Dane did not have quite the same ring to it.”  
Loghain eyes me a moment before smirking. “No, I agree with you on that. It is quite the mouthful.”  
I smile brightly. “Indeed. Not quite the mouthful Loghain Mac Tir might have been. Hero seemed more appropriate.”  
Loghain’s eyes lower to Hero as he snores in his lap. “I never thought to have a Mabari named after me. I suppose I ought to be flattered.”  
I snort softly and lean back on my hands, eyes moving to the stars above. “It was meant as a compliment. I wonder if a little kid somewhere might name a Mabari after me someday. Honestly, that would probably be the best reward for all of this that I can think of. A Mabari is a life commitment. The name must hold value to you or else you will have a lifetime to regret it.”  
Loghain is silent for a moment. “Perhaps you should have chosen a better name for your own hound. To be named after the man who betrayed his kingdom is hardly something to be proud of.”  
I eye him sharply. “He is named after the Hero of River Dane. I see no traitor. He paid his debt to myself and Ferelden on top of Fort Drakon. He saved my life and saved us all from the Blight. He did not betray his kingdom, Loghain. He saved it.”  
Loghain’s blue eyes hold mine, disbelief on his face that quickly turns to shame and he looks away, clearing his throat. “You killed the Archdemon and I owe many more lives than just yours. But I…appreciate the kindness.”  
His eyes lower back to Hero and he strokes the hound’s head several more times, a smile tugging at the corners of his thin lips. “Hero the Mabari.” He laughs softly to himself. “Maric is having a good laugh about that somewhere.”


End file.
